The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Chapter 1212

Chapter 1212

OOOooonnnnggggGGGG.

Ileot Swacc barred his teeth and suppressed a curse as he was forced to use his arms to defend against one of the Nether King’s quick attacks. Bad enough that it could utilize its sound wave attacks to blast him from across the rapidly disintegrating stone island on which they fought. Even worse was the being forced to endure that terrible resonance when their blows crossed.

His skin against the weird liquid Nether was the perfect conduit for its attacks.

As a gleaming and sparkling orb of power condensed in Ileot’s right hand, his left block the enormous, dripping arm of the Nether King that whipped toward him. Ileot’s image steadied his physical body in the face of the Nether King, but that terrible dissonance that formed the core of the Nether King spilled over into Ileot in that brief second of contact.

His organs trembled and tightened. His skin in the area surrounding the contact point quickly became inflamed, then ripped like wax paper.

All the emotions that animated the Nether King, all of the violent desires and swirling connections, were a furious cacophony that drove the body forward like an engine. Then veins in Ileot’s left arm bulged outward as he strained to endure the slow spread of that resonance through his limbs. Surging forward, the Nether King raised its other arm to strike from the side. The ground beneath its feat visibly cracked and disintegrated as it charged forward.

It was disaster incarnate.

Luckily, Ileot managed to unleash another eye-catching blast of white lightning and smash the Nether King in the chest. It stumbled backward, allowing Ileot to tear his arm away and take a few steadying steps to the side. With his high base Stats, Ileot’s flesh quickly mended. But this was still probing sort of engagement; nether Ileot nor the Nether King had truly made any all-out attempts to kill the other as of yet.

The Nether King’s liquid Nether body splashed to the side from the impact and revealed a gleaming core of energy, but the surrounding body quickly began to ooze back downward. Within a moment, the vulnerable core was covered once more. Ileot attempted to gather more of his image into a strike, but a Nether Herald lashed out at Ileot from the side in a sharply timed ambush.

Snorting, Ileot spun around the Nether Herald’s blow and pressed a palm to the Nether Herald’s side. Unlike the Nether King, these Heralds were much easier to get close to and sustain contact with. With that contact, Ileot smashed his image of a projected world directly against the Herald’s core. It staggered backward, reeling from the weight that a world’s worth of details could carry.

But before Ileot could finish it off, the Nether King was back.

“Do you think I’m afraid of you?” Ileot spat out as he unleashed two more beams of brilliant energy to press the Nether King backward. But even as he spoke, a tremor ran through his voice. One that Ileot couldn’t ignore. His eyes narrowed in hatred.

The situation was not good. He couldn’t inflict significant damage on this foe unless he knocked away the Nether King’s liquid exterior, but he was only willing to do that if he had the opportunity to strike a truly decisive blow immediately afterward. And as long as the two Nether Heralds that kept ambushing him wouldn’t let Ileot gather that sort of momentum, that was impossible.

Because the truth was that the liquid exterior of the Nether King served two roles; it protected itself from outside interference with its core, but it also greatly weakened the core’s offensive power. That terrible height of emotion that reverberated outward was the true core and strength of a Nether King. Casually engaging that wasn’t something that Ileot was willing to risk.

Ileot cast a hateful glance to the side, where Lord Miln was currently struggling. He wished to blame Lord Miln for failing to keep the Nether Herald’s off of him, but the truth was that Lord Miln was contributing by barely holding his own fighting against four Nether Heralds. One of them was crippled by Lady Iellaya’s earlier actions, but still. The feat was impressive enough that even a desperate Ileot wasn’t willing to release any cutting remarks.

But if it’s like this… damnit…! Why did it turn out like this…?

Lightning quick, the Nether King kicked upward with one of its tree-trunk wide legs. Ileot scrambled sideways but the Nether King spun like a top and brought one of its arms crashing sideways toward him. Although the Nether King had started off slow, it was clear that it was gradually becoming familiar with the body it needed to control as it descended into an area controlled by Aether. As a result, the force of its movements was quickly reaching the point that the air seemed to rip like paper when it moved.

This blow was another one that Ileot couldn’t dodge, but he saw how the two Nether Heralds were waiting for him to commit to blocking so they could strike at his back. Furious, Ileot raised his head and unleashed a piercing scream. White lightning blasted outward in a forking nova, slowing the Nether King slightly but sending the two Nether Heralds stumbling back. With a little bit of space, Ileot raised both hands and met the ominous strike of the Nether King.

OOOOOONNNNNNGGGGG.

The impact shook the air and jarred Ileot. The ground beneath his feet fractured as some of that horrible noise was transferred through his body into the orange stone beneath him. All the hate and rage that the Nether King felt became a physical sensation in Ileot’s spine that was near-agonizing. Yet this time, Ileot’s fingers couldn’t help but tighten on the mucous-y limb that sent such force outward. This was his fated foe. Despite the many visual variations that radiated outward, Ileot’s eyes were fixed on the Nether King’s blank face and bright eyes.

By this point, it was clear that the Xyrt Brigade Strike Team he had arranged was not arriving. It was incredibly frustrating, but Ileot had to admit that something was going wrong; some force that he didn’t understand was present on the battlefield. Surely it wasn’t just that they had been surprised by the suddenness of the Nether King’s assault, right?

Would it be worth it to buy another ten minutes' worth of time to see if they arrived late…?

“DO YOU THINK I FEAR YOU?!?!” Ileot bellowed, looking his worst fear that he had avoided for his entire existence full in the face. He did not blink. He could feel his blood pounding in his eyes. Breathing heavily, Ileot prepared to mobilize the last bit of liquid Aether that he had painstakingly refined. No matter if things had gone off the rails, Ileot refused to allow this chance to slip through his grasp. If he didn’t have an opening, he could make one. Because he was Ileot Swacc, the Duplicator.

In the Nexus, he was respected. And for good reason. He had three thousand years' worth of power and influence at his back.

Yet Ileot couldn’t escape the truth that his if had been a life of fear that Ileot had lived for the past three thousand years. Growing stronger, avoiding the frontlines, enduring the increasingly frequent nightmares that forced him to relive the experience of his original body dying right before his eyes. Ileot hadn’t put much stock in karma, but he couldn’t deny that he had at least a terrible mental scar from the experience. No matter how he attempted to run away, his feet always seemed to lead him back toward that moment where he had died.

It happened twice in the past, where he had gone to investigate some matter for the Nexus and found a Nether King inexplicably there around the site of the investigation. Both times he had panicked and fled immediately. But afterward, Ileot resolved to not let it happen a third time. So he had begun to make preparations to face this strange complex that he possessed.

He had refined his ability to create larger projection worlds and bring more duplications out from them into the real world. He had made a deal with Lord Miln and obtained enough Aether to create the largest world he had ever attempted. He had even involved other plots, planning to obtain the body of Randidly Ghosthound so he could study the unique physique he possessed and gain any small advantage for the final confrontation.

Most of all, Ileot had allowed himself the indulgence of spending time with the projection of his deceased sister, the one for whom he had sacrificed everything in the past.

With the grand projection he had created with Lord Miln’s Aether, Ileot Swacc created duplications of both the Nether forces and Aether forces from the battlefield that died. He allowed the Nether forces to freely join the other Nether, but he had kept the Aether forces separate to use them when he needed them. And then Ileot Swacc had then used the Nether forces that had been a part of the projection as a way to locate a Nether Prince, a target that would definitively bring the ire of the Nether King toward their location.

Then, when the Nether King attacked, he had severed the protection he offered the duplications, and they were forced to face the truth that they were copies of individuals who had already died. An existential dread that Ileot knew all too well. Even the Nether forces had reacted poorly, opening up a path for them to move forward and strike at the Nether King directly.

And yet…

I was so careful. So why…!

OOOOOONNNNNNNNNGGGGG.

The longer that Ileot’s hands gripped the Nether King’s arm the more of that vast-emotion-made-terrible-noise that he was forced to endure. Once more, his skin ripped and his veins bulged. Yet some portion of Ileot’s good sense had been ripped away by the budding fear and heady excitement he felt as he forced himself to face his long-held fear. No matter what strange complication had occurred, this was the day that he finally escaped this weakness. If he could slay this Nether King-

The Nether Heralds were surging forward, clearly sensing the powerful energy that was moving within Ileot to strike at their King. But it was too late. Ileot had enough time. The liquid Aether within him began to burn as he fed it into his image-

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye as two figures arrived on the battlefield-

Instantly, Ileot forcefully stopped the liquid Aether from igniting and threw himself backward in order to avoid a sudden follow-up blow from the Nether King. When he landed, he took several staggering steps backward, his body struggling to withstand all the damage it had taken in that long moment of contact between him and the Nether King.

The Nether King accelerated forward, but Ileot’s panic had found a new target. New fears rapidly multiplied in his heart. He raised both of his hands and unleashed a blast of white lightning again, holding nothing back. Another river of light smashed forward. It didn’t have enough piercing power to hurt the Nether King, but it was enough to launch it back off the edge of the floating stone island and out into the Great Rift.

It quickly stabilized itself and hurried back, but Ileot had already turned away from it. He was looking with a face steeped in dread toward the two individuals who had arrived at the edge of the floating island.

Lady Iellaya, dragging behind her two vast wings made of pitch-black smog. There were strange bags under her eyes and in her gaze there was a familiar intensity that Ileot had only seen in one individual before. Next to her came the duplicated Vualla. But after using the core of people’s lives to duplicate them, how could Ileot miss the fact that there was currently two Vualla’s present in one body?

In total, three Vualla’s were arrayed before him, staring over toward Ileot.

“How is this possible....?” Ileot was trembling. Trembling because there could only be one reason that Vualla came here. “You were dead! I tested it! I experimented with your life core for so long before I settled on you as the base for the projected world! There was no response! You had ceased to exist!”

The three Vualla consciousnesses all watched him. Ileot could feel their differences. In the most recent Vualla, there was only confusion and general disbelief. In the Vualla controlling that body, there was a seething sea of guilt and depression. And also a sprinkling of pity.

Perhaps the worst was the Vualla that formed Lady Iellaya’s terrible, ethereal wings. There was nothing in her heart, just the certainty of purpose. Just the dedication to accomplishing the task set before her.

Because that dead-souled Vualla was a monster that Ileot had created. On that battlefield three thousand two hundred and ninety years ago, Vualla had been in trouble and he had selflessly leapt to her defense. After a lifetime of being a coward, he had found it in himself to be a better brother than he had ever been in the past.

Yet although he managed to protect her, he sustained a mortal wound in the process. And in those last fleeting moments, he had dearly wished he could go back and try again, living a life where he would become strong. A life where he had taken his father’s ominous warnings seriously.

In his desperation, his abilities had activated. Eliot became Ileot. He had lived a life and lived it harshly. He fought early and often, stealing and taken anything he could in order to grow stronger more quickly. So much so that Ileot practically destroyed his family in his desperation to be prepared for that day where he would be so close to death. For the him that had felt the hand of death on his shoulder, no cost was too great to pay for power.

And perhaps because she was the reason that Ileot originally desired that power to protect, he had brutally taught little Vualla those same lessons. In fact, it would be fair to say that he subjected her to pretty constant mental and physical torture. All in the name of learning the value of power.

So Ileot had come back to the present, as the ‘different’ version of Eliot who had paid the right prices to become strong. He appeared on that battlefield next to his dying body, ready to save the day.

But he didn’t return to the present alone. Even with that first projection, his power was larger than just himself. That Vualla that he had so warped with violence had come back to the present with him. Their lives were already too tightly twined for him to separate their return. And that twisted Vualla had merged with the original Vualla just as Ileot and Eliot became connected with each other. But the Vualla that Ileot had raised on harsh lessons had overpowered her meeker self in seconds.

And then that monster that Ileot had created stole the fading life of Eliot in order to become powerful, slowly transforming into something completely unrecognizable before Ileot’s eyes.

And Ileot was immediately certain she had come here now for the same reason; to ensure that Ileot could no longer escape from death by her hands.